Greatest Need
by Spiritus Rex
Summary: "Everything looked different than it had - radically different, frighteningly different. Each and every tree that stood was a black and burnt skeleton, reaching upwards in vain for help, and each tree that did not stand was mere ashes upon the ground. Arthur, loathe as he was to admit it, felt fear shudder down his spine at the sight." - Arthur has returned. AU from 5x13. Spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Okay- so it looks like I'm back and writing fanfiction again! **

**I'm planning on updating this story every week (or sooner if I get it done!) since I tend to write rather slowly even if I DO have inspiration - please be patient with me!**

** Also - Hopefully as the story gets rolling the chapters will get longer, since I haven't written in awhile and have never been good at pacing chapters anyways. This first chapter ended up being - ah - a lot shorter than I expected. Its really short. Dreadfully short. Painfully short. Once I get more into the swing of things I might revamp it and make it longer, but hey, at least I broke 1,000 words!**

**I'm rather happy actually that the first story I publish after years of being in a writer-drought is for _Merlin_. I watched the series very recently and completely fell in love with the story and characters. There's just so many complexities and so many paths that could have been taken by any one of them- oh, now would be a good time to put in a disclaimer. Which I think is unnecessary. Because I'm just some dorky kid in America with a clunky computer, and my computer wouldn't be nearly as clunky or virus ridden as it is if I owned even a bit of _Merlin_ or its characters. **

**Sorry once again for the shortness of the chapter, but hopefully you'll enjoy it and that will well make up for it!**

**NOTE: THERE WILL BE SPOILERS.**

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The world was dark when Arthur pulled himself from the waters of Avalon. His armor and chain mail hung off him, wet and heavy, as he drug his feet through the mud, tearing up lake plants and stones beneath the water as he went. Mud swirled slowly just below the surface behind the king, a sign of the chaos he had torn, but Arthur paid it no mind. He was only focused upon his most immediate goal: getting to shore.

The shoreline was difficult to see in the blackened night, and Arthur ended up stumbling into the hardened earth and nearly tripping over himself when he finally reached it. Thankful that there was no-one there to see the proud king stumble, he- Arthur paused. No one was there. No one stood along the shoreline, watching or waiting for his return. Surely _at least_ Merlin should be present. Arthur would never admit it, but he had been almost counting on his loyal servant to be waiting for him. The last sight he had seen before death had been Merlin - albeit a broken, _sobbing_ Merlin - and so he had been hopeful for the same man to be the first sight he saw upon rising - hopefully minus the sobbing, as that was a sight he never wished to see again.

"Merlin!" Arthur roared, hoping that the warlock was nearby, trying his best to sound authoritative despite the water that bubbled up in his throat. He coughed and hacked at the suddenness of it, and pressed a hand to his chest as he swallowed and spluttered until he could breathe clearly. His other hand was unable to come to his aid, as it held his sword - _the sword _- tightly. Golden at the center and dangerous silver around the edges, Arthur felt like dropping it back into the lake and letting it rest in peace behind him. He had no need for such a weapon anymore, no need once Morgana had been run through with it, once Merlin had tossed it out into open water. It should have stayed there, beneath the surface of the lake - Arthur coughed once more and his grip on the sword hilt tightened - he should have stayed there.

The king finally looked up from the muddy ground after what seemed like ages, and he squinted against the darkness in order to see the treeline before him. Everything looked different than it had - radically different, frighteningly different. Each and every tree that stood was a black and burnt skeleton, reaching upwards in vain for help, and each tree that did not stand was mere ashes upon the ground. Arthur, loathe as he was to admit it, felt fear shudder down his spine at the sight. Either a forest fire had swept through the area recently, or something far more sinister had a penchant for flame.

Arthur staggered towards the trees, his sword held defensively in front of him, as if whatever had burned the trees would suddenly leap out and attack. He was worried now, for the state that he would find his beloved Camelot in, for Merlin who had not appeared at the shore, for himself trying to find his way through all this destruction, worried in general. Kings though, Arthur thought resolutely, were not _supposed_ to worry. Servants were supposed to worry, and kings were supposed to quell that worry or fear by riding out and dealing with it. Kings soothed the worry, but did not worry themselves, for if they did, the kingdom would sense their leader's hesitation and certainly be sent into their own panic. There was no kingdom to depend on Arthur now though, and despite his previous thoughts of kings not worrying, he worried.

The forest was easy to navigate, with all the foliage burned away and nothing to block his view of the path ahead. Breathing though, was not so easy, as with each step taken a new cloud of ash burst up towards his face. Arthur coughed - he seemed to be doing that a lot since his emergence from the lake - and continued on, vowing angrily that if he found whatever did this to this forest, he would down it as quickly and mercilessly as possible.

Arthur heard something crash off in the distance, and brought himself to a forceful halt. His opportunity to down the beast looked to be coming sooner rather than later. He listened carefully for another sound, and when nothing came, he began moving again at a much slower pace. Another crash sounded, this time much closer, and Arthur stopped again. Arthur brought his sword up before him, eyes sharp as he stared into the blackened forest around him. Hunting instincts from what seemed like a thousand years ago flooded back to him, and he crouched, all thoughts of Merlin and Camelot and how long he'd been dead gone from his mind in favor of hunting down whatever had destroyed the land. One more crash, and then a crunch of ash and broken wood as whatever it is moved impossibly closer, and then

"_Arthur?"_

The whispered word carried with it a wave of _wrongness_ so strong that Arthur physically staggered. He grunted once, and then held himself steady against the odd feeling.

"Show yourself!" He hoped he sounded like a king, rather than a scared prince. The Dorocha come to mind, and suddenly Arthur realized that he felt now like he did then, nearly powerless against an unseen foe. "Have you done this?" He gestured to the wreckage around him with his sword, while still trying to get a feel for where whatever it was that whispered his name is.

"_Arthur. Arthur!" _

Arthur grit his teeth as the voice approached, sounding now more like a desperate - hopeful? - chant than an actual calling of his name. The crashes and crunches all came in succession then, as if something were running towards the king through the destruction.

Then suddenly, Merlin is there, stumbling frantically and clumsily through the darkness. Arthur dropped his guard immediately, as he noticed he is prone to do where Merlin is concerned, and grins in extreme relief. The warlock was certainly a sight for sore eyes, and a sight itself. An oddly long scarf had replaced his typical neckerchief, and his clothes looked very fake - almost costume-like - to Arthur, what with the stripes of color on his servant's shirt and odd shoes that looked fit to fall apart on his feet. None of that mattered to Arthur though, at least not at that moment. He would ask Merlin about his odd clothes later, now though, now he had been reunited with an old friend, and all he could feel was happiness at seeing the man unhurt.

"Merlin!" He exclaimed, and threw himself into motion once more. Arthur made to go and throw an arm around his friend's neck and shoulders, embrace him as he once did after finding the man in a bog after days of him missing, "I thought you'd gone and left me." Arthur joked lightly, trying to distract himself - and Merlin - from their current situation. Merlin didn't reflect a jibe back at Arthur though, and did not move as his king pulled him into a one armed hug of sorts, his sword angled away from Merlin's body so as not to accidentally skewer him in his elation. Arthur pulled away after a moment of Merlin's stiffness, and he eyed his manservant with a frown.

"Never..." Merlin's voice sounded like wood wagon wheels on gravel, dry and broken. "I'd never leave you Arthur- I never did- I- I waited for you, for _so long_ Arthur."

The _wrong_ feeling is back again, permeating Arthur's armor and digging its claws into his stomach so strongly that he swallows in an attempt to dislodge them. He finds himself unsuccessful. "And how long exactly have you been," one more swallow, one more attempt, "_waiting_, Merlin?"

Arthur didn't forget that Merlin was a sorcerer - warlock? What's the difference? - but still found himself flinching slightly as Merlin's eyes twitched and flickered with gold. No immediate magic presents itself though, and so Arthur pegs it as a nervous habit of Merlin's and does his best to calmly wait for an answer. This question was _the question_, ranked in importance next to 'what did this to the forest?' It would determine if Arthur needed to rush back to Camelot after a year or two of missing, or if he needed to dig his sword into the ground and await death after hundreds of years of missing. Merlin, however, stayed resolutely quiet, his eyes on his hands that were shaking terribly.

The answer, when finally given, chills Arthur to the bone. "...a little over fifteen hundred years..." It was a _far_ longer duration of time than the Once and Future King expected.

"Fifteen hundred years..." Arthur gasped, as if there were no breath left in his body. Determined not to drop his sword in shock, he gripped it ever tighter. Surely it hadn't been that long- Merlin must've counted the years wrong.

But no, he knew by the hollow look to Merlin's face and by the hope in his eyes that it was true. Fifteen hundred years. His beloved Gwen would be long dead, as would all his knights. Camelot would be nothing more than dusty rubble beneath time's heavy weight. Arthur had been gone, literally dead to the world, for so long. Yet, Merlin had waited for him to return _the entire time_.

"I thought for sure..." Merlin was speaking again, and so Arthur tore himself from his tumultuous thoughts to focus on what his friend was saying. Merlin frowned brokenly for an instant, before pulling his mouth into a trembling smile that he seemed to choke on, "I thought for sure you'd come back in the First World War," _First World War? _"Or the Second," _oh god _"but you never did."

Arthur did not move as Merlin took a step forwards, and he watched the hope in the warlock's eyes be swallowed by something far colder. Those eyes widened slightly, and stared straight through his king, as his hands shake and shake until Merlin looks like he will fall apart if he tries to take one more step. Arthur wants to go and help steady the man, but his sword burns against his palm and holds him back. Something is dreadfully wrong here.

"You have to understand Arthur," Even though Merlin says his name, Arthur isn't sure if Merlin is even speaking to him anymore, as he pleads so desperately with the distance. "Kilgharrah said, he said that when Albion's need was greatest, you'd come back." He breaks off into a sob at the end, and Arthur wonders how it had come to this. Him and Merlin, standing together hundreds of years in the future, both broken in different ways, as a monster quite possibly watches from the shadows. "-And I couldn't stand it anymore. So I had to do something. I had to get a little," A short laugh breaks through the sobs, crazed and extremely similar to those laughs of Morgana's as she watched her brother fall. Arthur feels fear. "I had to get a little creative."

With a sweep of one thin arm, Merlin gestures to the burned and decimated forest around them. The _wrongness _slams into Arthur once more, forcefully tearing his eyes open with the realization that the monster that did this is much closer than the far off line of shadows. Merlin turned and looked at him expectantly like the good servant he was, arms outstretched and fingers splayed, offering up the terror of the land to his king.

Merlin had made himself the _enemy_.

Arthur closed his eyes and breathed heavily, willing time to stop and wait and just _let him breathe_ as he tried to come to terms with all that was happening _so quickly_. Merlin, who had once done all he could for Camelot and its king, who had once only ever thought of how to help people and keep others from harm, now had burned a scar across the kingdoms of Albion unlike any other. He had forced, through suffering, the earth itself to turn to its last resort, and raise a dead king from Avalon because he was the only hope it had against the twisted, hurt warlock that stood before him now. Arthur clenched his jaw against imagined screams of terror, and his head throbbed in response to his grinding of teeth.

_Oh Merlin… you changed…_

Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, made his decision. He opened his eyes and looked once more at his friend. But no, _no_, this was not his friend, not _his_ Merlin. Not anymore. He had ceased to be Merlin the moment he had turned his powers to his creative means of dragging Arthur back to life. The man that Arthur was looking at now was twisted by the immortal life he had been forced to live, and twisted more so by the mortal lives he had been forced to watch fade.

Merlin, hands frozen and still outstretched, smiles a tremulous smile at his king. The smile sends an arrow of sickness straight to Arthur's gut, because all of this was for _him._

Arthur knew that he would hate himself for years to come for what he is about to do. He knew that he was marooning himself in this strange new world without a friend or guide to help him. He knew that Merlin didn't deserve this. _Any_ of this. He knew, oh god, he _knew_.

"Arthur?"

He wanted to scream at Merlin, tell him not to speak, that it will only make it harder for Arthur to do what he knows Albion raised him from the lake to do. But he did not scream or yell or rage, he only kept his face a still and blank mask. He was the Once and Future King. He was stronger than this. He had led armies through battles and seen his men die around him too many times for him to be moved to tears by one man. No man was worth his tears. No man.

The man before him was no mortal man.

The sword that Merlin had forged for him _burned_ in his fist again, as if the dragon fire that had made it what it was was bursting to life around the metal once more. It knew what had to be done, it knew what Arthur had decided.

Not a mortal man...

_This is no mortal blade..._

Arthur struck.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we have chapter 2, earlier than expected, but only because I'm trying to hook you readers in on this. (and also because I'm a jittery fool who wrote this chapter in a flash and then couldn't wait till Wednesday to post it) **

**Honestly, I'm a bit conflicted about this chapter. I had two possible ways it could play out, but I decided to go with the version that was just a bit happier than the other. It's about the same length as the last chapter, and while I would usually pride myself on being consistent, I fear that I'm moving a bit too fast and the chapters too short. Pacing. Blugh. Pacing stories in writing was always my bane. **

**Disclaimer - Woop. I think it goes without saying that I don't own any bit of _Merlin._**

**! - One more note! I'd like to thank all of you who reviewed/favorited/followed so far! It's really appreciated, as are future reviews and the like! Just let me know what you think about this story- comments, criticisms, love it, hate it, characterization- anything. Like I said previously, I'm just getting back into the swing of writing, and I'm sure to be a little rusty, but reviews are really encouraging!**

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Merlin's eyes widened impossibly as Arthur moved, and he dodged to the side of the sword just in time as it lunged towards him. His shirt caught on the blade's edge, the resulting long cut in the fabric the only evidence that the blade had even gotten close to settling itself between the warlock's ribs. He gasped and stumbled over the ashes, stormy eyes locked upon the blue of his king's. The king's eyes were shuttered off and cold, they were the eyes of a knight in battle, willing to kill to save.

"Arthur- what-?" Merlin felt betrayed, and that was understandable. After everything that he had done for Arthur and all that he had sacrificed, after every moment that he had stood beside the king and been there for him, Arthur was willing to throw all that away without even a thought. Merlin knew that his actions looked bad, but Arthur should have _understood, _should have listened like Merlin had listened to him so many times before. Anything other than simply attacking without thought. It had come suddenly, Arthur's attack, suddenly and without trigger and Merlin could only feel oh so cold as he tripped away from the sword that swung once more towards his chest.

_"Astynte!_" The warlock yelled desperately, throwing a hand between him and Arthur. The man stopped, frozen in the movement of his next strike, which would have pierced through Merlin's outstretched palm and most likely have cut his hand in two. The spell was a weak one, not made to hold something still for so long, only made to command something to stop for a short moment. In that moment that the spell allowed, Merlin moved from the path of the blade, curled in on himself, and buried his face behind his fingers as the reality of the situation crashed upon him. A moment more, and Arthur moved again, his sword finding air where Merlin had once stood.

Merlin expected Arthur to not hesitate to run the warlock through when he saw how Merlin had his palms shoved against his sunken eyes. He expected Arthur to hiss at him that he never had accepted Merlin's magic, and that Merlin was a fool for holding him tightly when he asked and for crying over his body. He expected Arthur to call him a monster for all the terrible things he had done and all the lives he had destroyed. After all, Arthur had done all and more in Merlin's nightmares, and this situation was looking to be something fresh from the tortured warlock's time-addled mind. His actions, all he had done, hadn't been worth it in the end. Arthur _hated_ him. And that was it. He didn't trust himself to speak as the burnt leaves crunched and Arthur approached, still dressed in his best armor with the faint designs carved into its curling edges. Merlin bit back a ragged breath as he thought of how he had cleaned that armor of blood more than once, and now there would be no-one to clean _his_ blood from the proud metal.

He was being dramatic in these thoughts of blood and armor, but surely destiny would indulge him in one last great collapse before he met his final fate. Really, this fate was deserved for when he turned against the land and country, destroying everything he saw until whatever higher power there was delivered his king to him. He should have known that Arthur was the hero and would save everyone, and that he, Merlin, had become nothing more than a last smoldering flame of the Old Religion that needed to be snuffed out before the candle was melted to nothing. Destiny was through with him, and it certainly did not like being pushed to do things by selfish, destructive warlocks.

_You've served your purpose, old warlock. _The dead trees whispered. _Goodbye._

"Merlin."

Arthur was hesitating, against destiny's commands, which was extremely surprising. Merlin should have taken this advantage for his own, to knock Arthur unconscious and then, when he would wake, beg him to _just listen._ But Merlin could not bring himself to do more than shut his eyes and bow his head as the fight and hope bled from him. Just a minute ago he had been dodging the bite of the sword and stopping his friend from attacking him with one word, but now, he knew he did not deserve to dodge his punishment any longer. If Albion - _if Arthur_ - deemed him a threat, which he most certainly was, then he would not plead anymore for him to understand.

"Merlin." His name sounded like some twisted plea when Arthur said it like that. Merlin wish he wouldn't say it like that. "This isn't _you_ Merlin."

Merlin barked out a laugh that might have been a sob. He couldn't be sure. He felt so pathetic. "I haven't been me for a long time, Arthur." That is the truth, and it hurts to finally admit it, but Merlin now realizes that he doesn't have the luxury of withholding the truth anymore. He moves his hands from his face and tries whispering, one last time, "This was all I could…" but then he gives up, and shrugs like it means nothing, as he stares directly into the eyes of his king. "No… no it's okay… I knew what I was getting into. I deserve nothing less." I won't fight anymore.

He bends to one knee before Arthur, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and tugs his scarf - a lovely, blue and red houndstooth patterned thing that he had bought for its familiar colors - off and away from his neck to allow for an unobstructed place to cut and chop away at. The article of clothing falls into the ashes, and Merlin feels like crying as the blackened dust soils the fabric.

The sword in Arthur's hand dips and lowers, its tip soon pointing towards the ground, and Arthur takes another step closer. And another, and another, and then suddenly, his hand is on Merlin's shoulder. The servant bites into his bottom lip as he is pulled to his feet, and then Arthur is shoving on his shoulder, heavily, enough to bruise, and shouting something that Merlin cannot hear through the sudden roaring of blood in his ears. How dare Arthur show him mercy now when he had been ready to skewer Merlin without understanding earlier. How dare Arthur pull him to his feet when Merlin has accepted the judgement. How dare Arthur look for an excuse to spare his already far too long life.

"Fight back! Ple- Merlin. I- you know you don't deserve this, Merlin. You worked so hard to get me here, prove you don't deserve this- Fight back!"

So Merlin fought back, just as Arthur commanded. Without the aid of magic, he pulled his fist back and threw it forward towards Arthur's cheek, and it connected solidly. The emotions that raged in him, muted by his previous numbness, rose up suddenly inside him like the wave of a tsunami, grief and longing and self-hate and anger all at once. Merlin threw another fist, and another, but only the first hit Arthur's face. The rest landed haphazardly on his chest, Merlin's pale knuckles clanging and bruising against the battle fit wall that was the King of Camelot. Arthur said nothing the entire time, his emotions as unreadable as ever, and Merlin felt like crying, he possibly was already.

When he finally calmed, his fists dropped to his sides and uncurled in surrender. Arthur still clutched his sword, and he raised it only slightly, enough for Merlin to flinch at the movement. Then, the sword was gone from Arthur's grasp, and it flew through the air only to hit a tree and clang heavily to the ground with a cold sense of finality. Merlin's eyes followed it in mild horror, though he had thrown the same sword away over a thousand years ago, it seemed wrong for Arthur now to do so. Hands fell upon Merlin's thin shoulders, and he looked up, feeling young and small despite his thousands of years of age as Arthur looked at him. Arthur looked unsure in his decision to spare his friend's - a murderer's, a sorcerer's - life, though Merlin was quietly glad that he had.

"You _will_ fix this, won't you Merlin?"

Arthur was giving him a chance to redeem himself. A chance he didn't deserve, and Merlin knew he didn't deserve it by the nightmare that suddenly flashed before his eyes. A nightmare of the land being restored and Arthur fading away back to Avalon once it no longer had any need for him, leaving Merlin alone and old once more. He did not respond to the king's question, instead biting his lip once more and letting the small bit of blood run down his chin. He couldn't go back to waiting, surely Arthur knew that. He was so sickeningly selfish that he would end up just doing it all over again if he were to be left alone for any time longer.

Arthur's hands pressed harder upon Merlin's shoulders, insistent, "You_ will_ fix this." It wasn't a question anymore, now it was a command, and Merlin fought valiantly against the pull inside of him to obey his king.

He looked up to Arthur, and pulled himself from that grasp, "I won't let you die again, you're my friend." And those are the steadiest words he has said since finding Arthur in the middle of the forest. He remembers screaming the same at Kilgharrah, _"I won't let him die, he's my friend!"_ and the words had meant nothing then when the life had already left Arthur's eyes. Now, now though the words carry with them the weight of what Merlin is willing to do to keep Arthur rooted in this world. It's somewhat terrifying, Merlin thinks, suddenly extremely self-aware. It's _extremely_ terrifying. Any moment he can fall back into that monsterish mindset that led him to destroy the country, and he hopes Arthur is aware of that. Judging by the initial attempt to run him through, Merlin thinks its safe to say that Arthur is very much aware.

But Arthur looks at him like he's an absolute _idiot,_ and its such a relief from that impassive mask that he had been wearing the entire time that Merlin nearly breaks and agrees to fix everything that he had torn apart. "I'm not going to fall over and _die_ again just because of a few righted wrongs Merlin." It was amazing how Arthur sometimes could tell exactly what Merlin was thinking, and yet at other times he had been completely oblivious to his suffering. A hand reached out, and Merlin was sure that Arthur was going to grasp his shoulder or shove him threateningly again, but instead the gloved hand rests on the back of his neck and drags him forward in a gentle, brotherly way. He had missed such gestures oh so very much. "I will be fine. _We'll_ fix this, and then we can figure out what to do from there. Sound alright?" For a moment, Merlin thinks about refusing. Arthur had already decided to strike him down before, so he's almost certain that if he disagrees, Arthur will pick up the sword and try again. The warlock is balancing on a very thin edge, and he knows it.

So he nods his head slowly, without any aid or suggestion from the hand on the back of his neck, and Arthur breathes a sigh of relief that he won't have to try and kill his friend again. Because yes, Merlin is his friend. The Merlin he knew was still in there somewhere, and Arthur would not make the mistake of jumping to rash decisions and thinking that he was gone ever again.

"Alright. Now we've got a battle plan."

Merlin cannot help but dare to grin, slightly shakily, at that. It is so very _Arthur_ to think of something as complex, confusing, and emotional as this situation as a simple battle to be fought and won. A battle plan to fix the world that Merlin broke, and then another plan to fix the Merlin that the world broke. It was almost laughable, though Merlin did not laugh, and Arthur did not laugh either.

Merlin's eyes strayed to the side, his gaze drifting over his scarf and to the sword that lay forgotten at the base of one of the twisted trees. The warlock winced at the sight of the tree and its brethren, burned black by his hands, so he closed his eyes and tipped his head towards the weapon, "You should pick that up." He whispers. If his voice gets any louder he knows it will break, and then they will be right back where they started. Arthur made a small grunt of a noise and removed his hand from the back of Merlin's neck, but when he moved, it wasn't to retrieve the sword. Instead, the king bent and scooped Merlin's scarf into his hands. Then, he wrapped the warm fabric snugly back around his servant's neck where it belonged.

Even though slight sobs had escaped the man earlier, Merlin finally breaks and fully cries then, despite his best efforts throughout the entire ordeal not to. He was pathetic and selfish and, really, he knew it. Hands that once threw punches now clutched at the very same chest that had been his target. Arthur merely holds the thinner man, as the skeleton trees around them watch their murderer be pardoned. The two of them had a lot of work ahead of them of course. Arthur knows that he will soon feel the anger at all that Merlin had done, and Merlin knows that he will have a lot of explaining to do as to exactly _what_ he had done, but not now. Not now.

Now, Arthur was just doing his best to ignore how much Merlin smelt of death.

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**_Astynte = Old English. Imperative (direct command) singular. Meaning to restrain, overcome, stop. Translated as "Stop!" for this instance._**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Chapter 3! Wednesday as scheduled. **

**I forgot how difficult writing consistently and upholding a plot was. But believe me, I have worked out a loose plot idea for this story and plan to uphold it best I can. This is really just an establishing chapter, like 1 and 2 were, and it will take a bit of time before I can break away from "establishing" and get to "doing" because of this setting that I've restricted myself in. I'm actually very unhappy with this chapter. Nothing much happens. And I know I'm putting myself down, but I really don't want to disappoint those of you who are watching this story and are genuinely interested. (Maybe I should get a beta-) Hopefully you'll all keep reading though! I'm really quite excited for what I have planned.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own _Merlin_ at all.**

**Thanks again for all the reviews and favs/follows! Please keep reviewing! really- even two or three words boosts my confidence through the frickin roof.**

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Merlin's home, Arthur quietly noticed, was the only thing besides trees that still stood within a large radius of barren land. Everything else had been razed to the ground by either fire or some other dark means. Merlin knew that Arthur had noticed the destruction, the complete lack of life, and he seemed to get increasingly more uncomfortable by the barren blackness of the land the closer the two of them got to his tiny shack of a home. If the transgression had been something lesser, Arthur would have laughed and stated that Merlin was acting like a guilty child identified as the one who made the mess. This _mess_ was too large to joke about though, and so they walked in smothering silence the entire way. Thankfully, Merlin had never been able to bare straying very far from the lake of Avalon, and so it did not take much time before the two of them were standing before the well worn door.

"It's not a castle," Merlin said, pale hands fumbling with the key and finally managing to get it into the lock on the fourth try, "But at least it's warm." He swung the door open, the thing emitting a loud and haunting shriek at the movement, and then stepped aside to allow the king to enter first.

The house was far larger on the inside than it had appeared from the outside, something that Arthur acknowledged as Merlin's magic at work. Every room was on one floor though rather than two, and the front room at least was completely cluttered with almost every item imaginable - and even some items that Arthur never could have imagined in a million years. The door shut with a little shriek behind him, and suddenly Merlin was there at Arthur's shoulder, jittery and rocking on his heels as Arthur continued to survey the place. Fifteen hundred years certainly had seen to a change of quality in nearly _everything, _or rather, everything except Merlin's ability to pick up after himself. The clutter and obvious differences from homes in his time was slightly overwhelming for Arthur, what with him just having returned from Avalon, from death, not even an hour ago.

"You can have my room." Merlin spoke quietly, breaking the long stretch of silence that had been present while Arthur observed. Merlin knew he would have to add another room on later, but he couldn't do so now with Arthur still so wary of him and his magic. He felt like he was treading on burning coals while around the other man, just like he had the entire journey from Camlann to Avalon. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. One step forward, three steps back. "And, we'll have to go into town to get you some clothes soon, but I don't-" He gulped and quickly busied his hands with a pile of clutter, turning his back to Arthur. "I don't think you want to see the town just yet."

A burning memory of worn buildings, with their doors and windows barred against him as he stumbled dazedly down the center of the street, presented itself. Merlin worked his jaw, trying to think of something to say to push the images from his mind, but it seemed he had already said enough. Arthur's hand fell heavily on his shoulder and startled him only slightly, but it was not in a comforting way, so Merlin did not relax his tensed muscles. The grip Arthur had on him was more of a restraint now, a quiet warning, and it was almost impossible in that one moment for Merlin to reconcile the hand on his shoulder with the same warmth that had clutched the back of his neck. With a slight widening of his eyes Merlin suddenly realized that Arthur hadn't spoken a word since they had entered the house, since long before that probably.

The thinner man pulled himself slowly, testingly, from the grasp on his shoulder, and went back to trying to move some of the clutter out of the way to make a straight path to the bedroom. Or at least, make a straight path that one could navigate without fear of getting their foot impaled upon a piece of cutlery or other odd item that Merlin had deemed important enough to stash inside his home.

"Merlin." Arthur said behind him, "I'm going to see it eventually."

"Not yet." Merlin hissed in response, surprised at the sudden venom in his voice, the sudden darkness that seeped through the cracks in his poorly made mask. Arthur seemed surprised as well, and Merlin's chest _hurt_ as saw the subconscious way that the king's hand twitched for his blade. Merlin didn't want Arthur to lapse back into hating him so quickly, so no, they wouldn't be going to town for quite awhile. At least not while things were so tense and dangerous between them.

Merlin continued more wearily, "Just... not yet." Then his next word were spoken in a rush, "Work on getting out of your armor. I'm sure I've got some bigger clothes that'll fit you around here somewhere." His avoidance tactic changed itself from cleaning clutter to physically leaving the room, heading to his small bedroom on a hunt for maybe a large hoodie or an especially baggy t-shirt. Hopefully Arthur would be competent enough to be able to take off his own armor without help from his ever-present manservant.

When Merlin trudged back into the front room, head bowed over the pair of baggy gray draw-string sweatpants and the loose white shirt folded in his arms, Arthur was still there in full armor. Rather than remain standing though, Arthur had set himself down on the one thing in the room not dominated by years of mess. It was a ratty old arm chair that certainly had seen better days, and yet was there when Merlin had needed something to collapse backwards into. Now it seemed Arthur had used it for the same purpose, and was looking with glazed eyes at all that was in front of him while his hands ran slowly over the plush arms of the chair. Merlin knew he could not feel the texture of the chair through his gloves though. Ah. Overwhelmed then. It couldn't be easy after all, rising from the dead only to have a murderer for a guide and be unable to even begin to think of how to ask all the questions.

Merlin slowly approached Arthur with the clothes, "Here," He held out the offering, trying not to startle Arthur too badly. Though Arthur was hardly ever startled really, he was always ready and vigilant - except when he wasn't. "Clothes." Merlin continued. When Arthur didn't respond, the warlock practically tossed the mass into the king's lap. Arthur jolted as the fabric hit his knees, and glared half-heartedly for a moment at his former servant before standing from the chair.

To Arthur, it was a normal action, necessary for him to remove his armor and put on whatever costume-esque, unreal looking clothes Merlin had brought him. To Merlin, Arthur was standing with a sword at his side and anger in his eyes, and he scrambled unnecessarily backwards. An object lodged itself beneath his scrambling feet, and Merlin, having never been one of the most graceful of people, became tripped by it and fell against a leaning stack of books at his back. The stack leaned and groaned in protest, and Merlin froze in order to keep from sending the books toppling to the ground. He took a breath, and flickered his eyes over the worn spines in a quick once-over, checking to make sure they were finally stable before he gingerly leaned himself away from the stack and met Arthur's gaze again.

Arthur eyed Merlin much like he had the entire walk to the man's home - like a skittish animal, prone to violence. Merlin turned away first, hunching his shoulders as he disappeared through another doorway into what Arthur assumed this time was the kitchen, leaving Arthur to get changed. For a moment, Arthur's breathing was the only sound in the sudden quietness of the room, and with each breath his hands tightened around the bundle of clothes. A helpless sort of rage bubbled up inside of him, and he very nearly tossed the clothes aside. For all his talk of "battle plans," Arthur had no idea how to proceed. Here he was, trapped in a world extremely alien to him, with someone he now felt he barely knew. It would be near impossible to fix things if Merlin were to actively avoid him in fear of being run through, and the same went for himself. If he were to avoid Merlin for fear of the warlock's instability, nothing would get done.

Arthur glanced solemnly back to the clothes in his hands, unable to feel their softness through his gloves. There really wasn't a clear table or place for him to set them down as he removed his armor, so he turned around and let the pants and shirt hold his place in the armchair as he went about undoing the buckles. Contrary to Merlin's belief, he was in fact experienced with putting on and taking off his own armor.

The shirt, once Arthur had tugged it on, was extremely _odd _and felt completely wrong when stretched across his chest. It's sleeves seemed to be cut in half and then resewn to be short on purpose, and it was far too thin to provide any kind of warmth or protection. The pants weren't much better, but at least they were thicker, and the drawstring part was high enough to allow for his belt and sword to remain snug around his waist. The dark gray material was only the tiniest bit short down his legs though, evidence of the small height difference between him and the thinner man currently one room over.

Speaking of that man- there was a sudden clatter of dropped plates from what Arthur now _knew_ to be the kitchen, and he rolled his eyes before he could stop himself at the familiar showing of Merlin's clumsiness. After a few clinks of the plates being picked up, there was no more sound from the kitchen, and so Arthur resigned himself to solitude in the front room. He did his best not to look at the piles of things around him, knowing that he'd fall into an overwhelmed stupor again. Really, all he needed was a good night's sleep, and then maybe he'd be able to think more clearly about all this and ask some of the important questions that _needed_ to be asked as soon as possible. Right now though, Arthur's mind was rather too preoccupied to be thinking about asking any _questions._ It was teetering dangerously between the options of skewering himself with Excalibur, skewering _Merlin_ with Excalibur, running for the hills, or all three, and none of those options seemed to contribute positively to his plan to fix things or get answers.

"The bedroom is clean if you-"

Arthur jolted and swung himself around, "_Mer_lin!" already falling from his lips as he tore himself from the stupor he had told himself he would _not_ fall back into. Merlin had somehow managed to come back into the main room with all the quietness of a ghost, much like he had when he had returned with the clothes, but Arthur knew that in neither of the instances was Merlin purposefully trying to startle him. He dragged a hand down his face, invisible sand pulling at his eyes, and groaned once before responding to the wide eyed warlock with a nod of his head that closely resembled a nod of Gwaine's head when the man had been at the tavern for too long.

Surprisingly, Merlin didn't lead him to the room, instead merely pointing to one of the doorways that led out of the main room. Arthur threw a glance at the door, a glance at Merlin, and then a glance back to his armor that now sat stacked neatly on the seat of the armchair. Merlin seemed to understand, and he scooped up the armor, letting the pieces fall into their familiar place in his arms.

"Get some sleep, sire." Merlin whispered, echoing Arthur's thoughts. And so it was with a heavy heart and unaccomplished goals that the King of Camelot trudged off, feeling decidedly un-kinglike, and filled with far too many questions and far too little answers.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hello! Here I am, back again, with this dramatic _mess_ of a story.**

**I'm trying a new formatting/writing technique with this chapter, and I hope it doesn't upset the current flow too much. Here we start to see the small beginnings of an _actual plot. woW. _Other than the plot and testing of techniques though, this chapter is very much unedited compared to the previous chapters, so if you see a grammatical thing or something that reads awkwardly. ****I'm pretty much writing whatever comes into my head, and I'm not entirely sure if it makes sense all the time or not. Let me know if you're confused or anything! Really! **Feedback is something that I 100% appreciate and will eat up like hungry hungry caterpillar. 

**Pleaaaase review! please please! You really don't have to but _please. _**

**Disclaimer - I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

The day began brightly, with sun streaming like water through the dusty windows of Merlin's small home. No other light was on in any room - partially because it was unneeded, and partially because Merlin quietly feared Arthur might think of lamps and lightbulbs as sorcery. The light from the windows was more than enough to illuminate the kitchen, and it seemed to spread a blanket of simpleness over the small table that served as a barrier of sorts between the king and his servant.

"...when did Gwen die?"

Merlin breathed. An easy question to start them off then. Hopefully it would stay that way.

"Many years after you. She lived a long life and died quietly."

Arthur now took his turn to breathe, his shoulders relaxing subconsciously at the thought of his wife living on long after him and not perishing before her time. It was like a breath of fresh air before being plunged back into a smog.

"Did she ever remarry?"

Merlin snorted and smirked at Arthur, looking for all the world like the joking young man he had been a thousand years ago for that .one quick moment. Arthur wished with a twist of his heart that Merlin still was that young man, and not this odd mess of emotions he found impossible to decipher. Merlin spoke quietly and truthfully around his smirk, "No. Do you really think she'd do that to you after everything that happened between you two? She ruled alone, but she ruled well. The land was peaceful during her time."

Arthur nodded, smiling almost sadly even as warmth filled him. He might not have been there to rule at her side, but the knowledge that Gwen had taken up Camelot successfully and kept the land peaceful after his and Morgana's deaths was more than he could have asked for.

Pulling himself from the thoughts of the wife he had left behind, Arthur returned to the mental list of questions he held in his mind. "And what of the knights? Gaius?"

Merlin's expression twisted momentarily with almost forgotten grief. No matter how long ago all of his friends had died, it never did get easier, but Merlin knew Arthur needed this more than Merlin needed to keep the wounds closed. "The knights all fell in some battle or another. All but Leon and Gwaine. Leon became Gwen's chief advisor and passed in his sleep much like she did. Gwaine though died the day before you at Morgana's hand. Gaius fell ill a few years into Gwen's rule - he was an old man who had been through too much, he held on much longer than expected really."

An old man who had been through too much - how ironic, Arthur thought without humor, as he spoke to a man who fit that description well.

"Thats... thats good then." The king whispered. All of the people he loved had seemed to have gotten exactly what they deserved, valiant deaths in battle after having lived lives of loyalty, and peaceful deaths after lives of loyalty. He didn't know if it was more difficult to swallow back his emotions at this news than if they had all died gruesomely and with treason at the end of each dagger - because he hadn't been there to die peacefully with them all. And neither had Merlin.

"Merlin." Arthur wanted to reach across the table and grasp his friend's hands, wanted to hold him steady in the face of his next question. He felt like he knew the answer already. "Merlin, did you ever go back? To Camelot?"

Merlin didn't begin to shake from nerves like Arthur had expected he would, but rather he reacted far worse. Shaking and crying would have been preferable to the immense _cold_ that swept through the mood of the room. His eyes darkened tremendously, as if a blackened curtain had been dragged over their light, and every emotion slipped from his face like the water of the lake from Arthur's breastplate. "No. No I did not. There was no need to." _You weren't there._

Arthur swallowed and decided to change the subject momentarily. He didn't like the darkness he could see bubbling up inside Merlin, but he knew he would have to confront it sooner or later. "Was magic ever... Was the ban ever repealed?" Arthur needed to know if Gwen had done their friend this one small mercy. Merlin nodded dazedly in response, his eyes no longer seeing Arthur as they stared through darkness at some odd spot he seemed unable to focus on. "When?" Arthur pressed on, desperate to not allow his friend to fall away into his own mind.

"Bout- 'Bout a year after you died."

Arthur pressed his lips together, and nodded slowly as if in approval of Guinevere's actions. After all, if he had survived he would have done the same - maybe even sooner than a year. "If magic wasn't banned, why didn't you go back to Camelot then?" He was pushing it, he knew. Merlin scowled at him, his eyes focusing through the darkness, and his expression clearly told Arthur to _drop it. _"Well Merlin?" He said, pulling on his reserves of confidence as he spoke.

"I told you." Merlin bit out, suddenly finding himself engaged in a staring contest with the king.

"Where did you go?" Arthur did not back down.

"Anywhere." Merlin broke the eye contact first, turning his head to the side and stiffening his shoulders.

"And do you think that was the best thing you could've done?" Didn't Merlin understand that if he had gone back to Camelot, he wouldn't have been so alone? All that solitude had been self-inflicted, and Arthur was filled with the frustrated feeling of trying to get someone to realize something that they just didn't want to realize.

"Yes."

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He felt so conflicted between treating his friend as if he were a cracked vase or treating him as if he were a wounded, growling animal he had to firmly coax out of its hole. Either way, he knew the situation would explode before it got better, and who better than to spark the explosion than he. Arthur had always been good at starting things off after all.

"Damnit, Merlin _why_?"

Merlin turned back to him and quirked an eyebrow in a way that would make Gaius proud. He smirked shakily, almost to himself, and did not look Arthur in the eyes. He knew that his king wasn't just asking about why he hadn't returned to Camelot. Merlin just wished Arthur would just come out and _say it_. Why did you isolate yourself? Why did you let yourself go mad? Why did you do your damnedest to try and destroy the world? Why did you burn forests and terrorize towns? Why should I believe you when you say you won't do it again?

"Why what?" Merlin rasped in response, deliberately beating around the bush in an effort to get Arthur to just _talk_ to him. Oh he _knew_ that they were already talking, but Arthur was controlled in every word he spoke, obviously fearful of overstepping any invisible lines even as he contradicted himself, treating Merlin as if he would break and then asking questions he knew would be impossible to answer. Merlin idly wished he could burn those lines down. When had those lines gotten there? What had put them there? He knew too well what had.

"You _know_ what!" Arthur snapped suddenly as he rose from his seat and slammed an open palm against the wooden tabletop. "You _know_!" _Talk to me, Merlin, you don't have to be alone anymore. You did all this so you wouldn't be alone, right? So just talk to me._

For a beat, Merlin did not move, his body frozen with his head of scruffy dark hair bowed towards Arthur. He rose slowly, head still bowed, looking menacing yet vulnerable all at once, but Arthur kept his hand firmly planted on the table.

"Yes, I do, and I'm sorry." Merlin stated simply, and then when Arthur thought he'd say more, he walked from the room without even a backwards glance to the king he left behind. Guess the conversation is over then, Arthur thought with a weary shake of his head as he lowered himself back down into his chair. The slam of a door behind him jolted the king out of his weary state, and the wave of sudden emptiness that wafted through Merlin's small home was enough to have him turning in his seat and gazing through the open kitchen door to the main room. Sure enough Merlin was no where to be found, having left the house to go _somewhere_, and Arthur suddenly found himself feeling very alone. How selfish of him.

* * *

Merlin didn't return until hours after he had left. In that time, Arthur had done his best to not approach or touch anything other than the wood kitchen table, armchair, bed, and his own sword and armor. When he had been asking Merlin questions earlier that morning, it had been so easy to forget that he was now a little over a thousand years in the future, and the king berated himself for allowing himself to be deluded as to the true reality of the situation in favor of asking about the past. The present was far more important now, Arthur realized just as Merlin trudged into the kitchen, arms laden with odd looking translucent bags full of cloth and other items.

"I decided to go to town without you, thought it'd be easier." Merlin whispered, no longer dark and quiet, stewing in past secrets, as he had been, but now once more looking like he had when Arthur had first seen him at the edge of the lake. He was a nervous servant again, the bags on the table saying the same message that his outstretched arms had. _This is for you. _The message seemed far more innocent now than it had been before. Arthur nodded against the faint tightness in his chest, and reached forward to poke at the bag as if it would explode at any moment. Merlin watched with a sort of damp amusement, biting his lip to hold back from grinning at the ancient king's wariness of a grocery bag. As Arthur poked the bag again, Merlin decided enough was enough, and slowly reached forwards to dig deep into the flimsy bag's depths. He pulled out a few neatly folded shirts from the first bag, all with tags of paper hanging from them, as well as a few folded pairs of pants made from a cloth that Arthur did not know. The next bag revealed an odd stick with broom-like bristles sticking up from its end encased in a clear shell, a clear flimsy case not unlike the bag packed tightly with white rolls of cloth, a plastic blue tube with an even darker blue cap, a few taller tubes, and more odd things that Arthur was sure Merlin would deem as 'necessities.' Arthur watched as Merlin's thin hands pulled all the objects and more from the bag, setting them on the table, before explaining each item and how it was used in great detail. Conflict of the morning forgotten for the moment, Arthur said nothing as Merlin prattled on, leaned forwards and fingers thread together as if he were in an important council meeting that he could not afford to miss one word of.

"I noticed you didn't much like the short sleeves, so all the shirts are long sleeved."

Of _course_ Merlin would notice Arthur's obvious discomfort with the ridiculous half sewn sleeves, and though Arthur was sure that these new shirts would be just as thin and awkward as the one he currently had on, he had no doubt that the longer sleeves would certainly help him feel a bit less out of place.

"So, how fares the town?" Arthur asked after he had finished tugging a new, long sleeved, red shirt on and had depositied the other shirt in a lump upon the table. He glanced from the corner of his eye at Merlin, trying to see how the man would react seeing as he did so snappishly when the state of the town - or the state of _anything_, really - had been mentioned previously.

Merlin averted his eyes, "It fairs fine." He began pushing the things he had bought back into the bags and lifted them again, ready to take them to the bathroom and bedroom. He really had to add another bedroom soon; the old armchair and clutter that surrounded only made for a rather perilous and cramped sleeping space, with barely enough room for the warlock's long and thin limbs.

Arthur stood and made to help his friend with the bags, if only to not allow him to run, "Then why would I not want to see it?" He posed the question innocently, but Merlin still huffed out a snort at the obvious prying.

"Today really _is_ the day for questions it seems." Merlin remarked dryly, "I only thought it might overwhelm you, what with the advances and different looks of things," The explanation was plausible, but Merlin was once again reminded by a tightness in his chest how he really did not have a right to hide the truth anymore, "And..." His lips twisted and he turned his head away from his king, "You saw the forest, there really isn't much of a difference." He watched the horror fill Arthur's eyes and scrambled to push it away, "The buildings all still stand though, else I wouldn't have been able to buy all this!" He lifted his arms and the bags as well in a small bob of acknowledgment, trying his best to grin at Arthur as he did so.

Arthur grinned back, strained and with his lips pressed together, not allowing the grin to meet his eyes. It was moments like these that reminded the king of just _who_ he was sharing accommodations with. Merlin seemed to flip back and forth from the servant he knew to the twisted man he didn't, and frankly, it was difficult for Arthur to keep up and react accordingly to whoever he happened to be dealing with. One statement could flip Merlin's personality, so much so that Arthur was wary of trying to bring up just how they would fix the damage done to the land. Merlin became a defensive beast when asked about the scar he tore into the land, and yet would smile awkwardly to reassure Arthur that _yes, the buildings still stand, I did not destroy more than I had to!_

"If we're having a question day, perhaps I should teach you a few modern games- Its certainly the time to."

Arthur turned to look at Merlin, who had come back from putting away what he had bought, and now held a long and flat box in his hands that looked as if it were made of paper. The man shrugged when Arthur raised his questioning eyes to his, looking extremely awkward, before he pushed forwards through that and slid the box across the table top.

"Its just checkers Arthur, believe me, I wouldn't start you off with a game your little royal brain couldn't handle." The warlock said, but the banter fell oddly from his lips, as if he were trying too hard to be the Merlin that Arthur had left behind. The man's personality had seemed to have partly flipped this time, caught between the defensive beast and willing servant. Arthur sighed and did not bother to reply to the half-hearted jab, but merely watched as Merlin set the small circular pieces up on the board.

"Alright, so you see, I play the white pieces, and you play the black, so I move first."

"That's hardly fair. I should move first, I am the king after all."

"Not anymore you aren't, now hush while I explain this. I doubt they had checkers back in Camelot and I want to make sure you know the rules so that when I beat you you can't claim I cheated."

"That wouldn't be honorable of me Merlin, how dare you think such of me."

"Wow, you had fifteen hundred years of beauty sleep and yet you're still a prat."

"Shut up, Merlin."

They both felt strained as they interacted, but ever so slowly, an odd semblance of their old friendship returned. Halfway through the game, Arthur unhooked Excalibur from his belt and set it on the floor, and neither man acknowledged Merlin's small sigh of relief that followed the action. They played on into the lateness of the day until after another loss Arthur threatened, very seriously, to break the black and white checkerboard over top of Merlin's head.

* * *

That night after the game of checkers had long been packed away, the king of Camelot found himself roughly awoken from his sleep by a series of knocks upon the front door. Excalibur was in his hand before he had even fully shrugged off the blankets, and he sat up, shirtless, already listening intently.

"Who are you?" Arthur heard Merlin ask as the warlock opened the door to whoever had knocked, sounding innocent and oblivious as he hid the slight threat in the undertone of his question. Merlin was clearly not used to or expecting any visitors.

There was a beat of silence, and then a thick and nasty sounding voice answered, "It do'int matter 'oo we are, now does it?" Arthur stiffened, and slowly climbed out of the bed over towards the door so he could hear better the conversation he knew would follow. Arthur had heard such a drawl on many a bandit leader and slaver, and he knew that these men, whoever they were, were not good news.

"I think it does, actually." Merlin responded snappily, all pretenses of innocence gone.

"Come now, we're just 'ere to inquire about a young lad that lives 'round 'ere. 'eard he hasn't left his little home in yeahrs." Arthur could practically _hear_ Merlin's spine snap and stiffen at the man's words. "Some kind folks saw 'im out n about yesterday, and we wa just wonderin what made a ittle bitty bird like 'im leave his nest."

"If its all the same to you," Merlin began slowly, and the creak of the door followed his words like a carriage pulled by a horse, "Then it's none of your business." The creaking speed up and then stopped with a dull thud, as if one of the men had put their foot in the door's way and halted Merlin's act of slamming the thing dramatically shut. Arthur held his sword at the ready - not like he hadn't already been doing that though to be honest - and waited silently, just in case the men decided to invade Merlin's small home.

"Well y'see lad, it _is_ our business." The same man that had done all the talking so far continued, "Our employer's been lookin for the boy that burned down 'alf the country, I'm sure you've heard 'o 'm," Merlin didn't respond, listening in silence, and a chuckle came from the second man as if he knew they had hooked the warlock like a fish. Arthur kept his breathing quiet, this was the first he had heard of of other people being aware of Merlin's dark deeds. For some reason it hadn't struck him before that other people were still in the world besides just the two of them, other people that had suffered because of Merlin's loneliness. "An' he's been wonderin if that boy'd like to-."

There was steel in Merlin's voice when he spoke, and Arthur had to restrain himself from clutching Excalibur tighter; he could practically see his friend's eyes spitting gold fire. "Leave. Now."

"No need to be like tha-"

"_Now."_

There was a yelp of pain as the man's foot that had stopped the door was removed from its space, and then a quick slam of wood on wood. The swearing and cursing directed at Merlin was muffled by the walls of the house, but Arthur heard Merlin's labored breathing loud and clear.

Arthur almost left the room then, almost went over to Merlin and confronted him, or comforted him, or something. He did not do so though, instead opting to hide behind the door to the bedroom like an eavesdropping coward, his sword held aloft in his hand and his thoughts miles away. Merlin did not calm for what seemed like hours, instead spending his time thinking by pacing like an animal just outside the door that Arthur currently had his back pressed against. Though he knew it wasn't fair to either of them, Arthur could not help but wonder whether he should feel protected, or fearful.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the late update, but here's the next chapter! I don't think I'm going to be able to do consistent Wednesday to wednesday updates anymore though, what with finals fast approaching and my own motivation failing to show up and do its job.**

**Oh! but I have decided to answer to reviews on the previous chapter in these chapters starting now. I might go back and edit chapters 1-4 to include this, but for now, I present the replies to the reviews on chapter 4:**

**_Gasoline Diamond_ - ahhH thanks (and yes you are excused to drown- have fun- om g)**

**_DarkMousyRulezAll -_ yells vry quietly thaNKS. I'm glad you liked the dialogue and how it was written. I'm still gettin back into the swing o things and your encourangment is much appreciated, amiko :D I won't letcha down!**

**_CoconutLove47_ - no no you weren't rude at all! thanks for pointing that out actually; after all, I can't get better without learning from mistakes after all (that mistake has now been edited to be correct btw ;) ) thank you!**

**Thanks also to all of you who have favorited/followed/reviewed so far! I hope you continue to enjoy this story! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

* * *

Merlin didn't mention the strange men, or their visit, to Arthur the next morning. Or the morning after that. Or after that. So Arthur didn't mention it either. It seemed he was becoming more and more of a coward with each useless day that passed. He had gone from that first moment when he had been brave enough to nearly strike Merlin down, to nearly a week later when he could barely stand in the same room as the man let alone have a normal conversation with him. Merlin would introduce new games or items to him each night, trying to build up Arthur's knowledge of the new world they existed in before he allowed the slowly going stir crazy king out of the house. Other than those moments though, Arthur and Merlin pretended like that first night by the lake or the second night with the men appearing at the door had never happened. Everything seemed very anti-climactic and unreal to Arthur, and it became increasingly so the more days he spent trapped in Merlin's little cottage of a home. The king knew he needed to take action and do _something_ soon, else he was sure he'd go mad just as Merlin had, only far more quickly.

Meanwhile, while Arthur pondered what to do to not feel so disassociated with everything, Merlin became increasingly paranoid. The odd men, with no names to match their faces and their sudden appearance at his doorstep, had sent the warlock into a sort of _high alert_ mode. He had known that once things calmed people would come seeking him because of all the terror and damage he caused, but he had expected some form of justice system, not a shadowy "employer" and two slimey grinned thugs. The entire situation - including his and Arthur's odd interactions each day - was enough to have Merlin stressed with paranoia to a point he couldn't remember being at since the times of Camelot.

The two of them, the Arthur and Merlin of legend, were currently sitting lazily in Merlin's kitchen again, Arthur with his feet propped up on the table and Merlin being too absorbed in mentally counting his defenses to object. For the past couple of minutes Arthur had been, less than subtly, throwing Merlin exasperated glances and groaning loudly in expression of his boredom. Merlin hadn't been paying the king any mind, and Arthur was fed up at this point with trying and failing to get his servant's attention. Merlin was obviously stressed, but Arthur was _boredout of his mind._

"Alright, that's _it_." Hardly thinking, Arthur tore his legs from the table and slammed them to the floor, and Merlin turned his head at the sudden exclamation. The warlock felt his aforementioned stress spike when Arthur stomped over to stand in front of him. "I can't take it anymore." Arthur reached down and snagged one of Merlin's thin wrists, tugging him up from the chair before shoving his back so that he would walk away from the place he had previously been occupying. "I can't stand _one more day_ stuck in here. Come on, we're going to go out and do something and you're _not_ going to tell me I'm not ready because if you do," Merlin hadn't spoken a word throughout Arthur's tirade, and yet he found himself with a finger in his face anyways. "If you do, I will find some stocks, and lock you in them until you rot."

Arthur understood the risk of leaving, what with people looking for Merlin and having so easily found him previously when he had only left to go buy a few necessities. Yet, despite knowing this, Arthur was absolutely, _positively,sure_ of the fact that he would go _mad_ if he had to spend another day in Merlin's tiny house, listening to Merlin's nervous prattle, and playing Merlin's ridiculous games.

Merlin blinked and slowly pushed Arthur's finger, which had frozen before his face while the king huffed and puffed, to the side. He eyed his friend's determined expression with faint amusement for a moment, before nodding in his agreement. He wasn't about to test Arthur's patience - or the man's ability to find or make an impromptu set of stocks - simply because he was fighting a shadow war with paranoia. Merlin knew if anything were to happen, he would be strong enough for the both of them, though insisting that Arthur bring along Excalibur couldn't hurt any. The sword, thankfully, was already fastened securely at Arthur's hip, so that took care of one issue.

"And what are we going to do? Any plans?" The old honorific was said with obvious mockery, as Merlin moved away from Arthur and began to look for his scarf. It had become a sort of permanent fixture around his neck whether he was inside the house or out of it, and if they were going out then he'd need it all the more. Arthur gaped for a moment at his servant's sudden willingness to indulge him, after an entire week of Merlin insisting upon Arthur not 'being ready' for the outside world. Not to mention the way that the warlock had posed his question. '_Any plans?' _The words were heavy with _knowing_, and Arthur realized with a slight grumble that Merlin knew that he had planned nothing more past his desire to simply get _out_.

The king crossed his arms and collected himself quickly, his warlock holding back a smirk all the while, "Not particularly. Why, do _you_ have plans, Merlin?"

Merlin grinned impishly back at him, "No."

Arthur barely kept himself from throwing his arms in the air in exasperation. It seemed he would have to fall back on an old fail-safe, a hobby that never failed to thrill him and yet he knew Merlin hated it with a passion, "Well, lets just go hunting then." He balanced his closed fists on his hips, and glanced around the kitchen that they still stood in, realizing a moment too later that this room wouldn't be the one to house any hunting equipment that Merlin might have stashed away in his pile of odds and ends, "I'm sure you've got some crossbows or bows and arrows around here somewhere." Arthur said as his head swivelled a moment more before he fixed his friend with an expectant look.

Merlin's lips twisted, and he looked just the right amount of sheepish as he shot down Arthur's last hope at relaxing and breaking free from their current situation, "I don't have any crossbows or anything," This time Arthur did throw his hands in the air in exasperation, mentally groaning and rolling his eyes heavenward as he asked whatever higher power there was why he had been saddled with such a useless - yet destructively loyal - servant. "Not like there are any animals to hunt anyways, so really we should just stay in." Arthur spun and poked his finger back into Merlin's face, silently reminding the man of his threat of the stocks, as he thought over what Merlin had said. Of course there would be no animals, the forest was nothing more than a pile of ashes, and would look more in place in a fireplace rather than where it stood on the fields out in the open. No self-respecting creature would stay in such a lifeless place. Merlin could also just be stalling though, Arthur thought, knowing that the warlock had many reasons he would likely rattle off at the slightest bit of prompting for the two of them to stay locked inside his small home. Shadowy men be damned though, Arthur was going to get some fresh air - or ashy air, whatever air that wasn't inside this cramped house - or die trying.

The idea of an excuse to get out came to him suddenly, and Arthur mentally patted himself on the back as he spoke, watching Merlin's expression morph to slight confusion as he did, "Well, that's where we'll start then." Then he turned and strode purposefully from the kitchen.

"Start... _what_ exactly?"

Arthur snagged Merlin's scarf from its hook and spun to toss it in the man's face, grinning as Merlin spluttered and pulled the cloth away from his eyes. He had known Merlin would follow him, as he always did, and he would continue to follow him even now. "Fixing things." Arthur said simply, strongly, as if that was all that needed to be said. Yet still Merlin gaped at him, and Arthur's eyes rolled skyward for the second time that day, "You don't think I'd forget that promise you made did you? Oh no, I'm not letting you off that easily."

"I didn't promise, you forced me t-"

Arthur waved his hand in the air and forcibly cut Merlin off, refusing to allow the dark thoughts of that night to suffocate them now. That darkness seemed to have been hounding the two of them non-stop, in their thoughts, but never in their words. "Yes well you still promised anyways. Honestly though, you really don't have a choice Merlin." Arthur heard Merlin huff loudly, and took it as a sign that no more objections would come from him. "So its decided then. We'll start by fixing things in the forest. I'm sure you and your magic can probably do something to heal up the trees and plant new things."

Merlin paused and leveled an odd _look_ at Arthur, a look that the king couldn't immediately decipher. After a moment - barely any time having passed at all, yet it felt like a year to Arthur as the silence stretched on - the heaviness in Merlin's eyes and shoulders lifted slightly. Another victory in Arthur's favor it seemed, if Merlin was willing to allow them both out of the house at all. Speaking so casually of Merlin's magic seemed to soften the warlock up, and Arthur filed away that bit of information to use in more surreptitious endeavors later.

"Fine." Merlin said as he finished wrapping his scarf around his neck and pressed past Arthur towards the creaky front door, "But what will you do be doing while my _magic_ and I do all the heavy lifting?" The king noticed with a small pang that even though he had mentioned the magic first, and so casually too, that Merlin spoke as if he still seemed to think that if one wrong word on the topic was said he would find himself with Excalibur sticking through his chest. It was a sobering realization, but the best thing for it was for him to continue talking normally, and so Arthur did.

"I'll be overseeing your efforts of course." Arthur explained. Then he tugged the front door wide open.

As soon as the door had opened wide, the King of Camelot found himself pausing almost against his will. The landscape in front of him was just as barren and black as it had been a week ago when he and Merlin had first trudged through the ash to Merlin's home, yet the breeze that brushed through the open doorway was fresh and crisp, oblivious to the thick and solemn qualities it should have possessed. Arthur breathed in deeply before stepping out of the bubble that he had been trapped in, and he could almost hear it as it popped and deflated behind him. The moment passed as Merlin shut the door, the creak popping Arthur's own bubble just as he had popped the other, and the king nodded once to his warlock as the man took up his place beside him.

"Let's get going."

* * *

The Isle of the Blessed certainly did not look as blessed as it had back in Arthur's time. No longer was it a dot of green with an ivory tower standing regally upon its back. The twisted tower that stood upon the island looked just as mysterious and shadowed as it once had, yet the pristine quality of magic that once radiated from it had long since faded. With that faded magic, the stone that built up the tower could be seen crumbling even from the far away shore, and the lake water that lapped at the edges of the small bit of isolated land did not do so without dragging dirt away and scarring the dull green edge that it pressed against. Over the many years that Avalon had held King Arthur in it's depths, the Old Religion and the life that flowed through the land had somehow bled away, and Arthur felt faintly sick as he looked on at the obvious evidence to this loss. If this was how the isle _looked_, Arthur could barely begin to imagine how the energy coming from it _felt._ Merlin certainly seemed to be able to feel it, as the green ring of grass - the only green grass for miles - at the edge of the lake bore witness to Merlin's unwillingness to even dare to approach Avalon's center.

Merlin still seemed unwilling to approach even now, as he stood at the edge of the trees and oversaw the lake with a shadowed gaze. Arthur himself stood within the strip of green grass, trying to see all that he hadn't in the darkened chaos of that first night. There really wasn't much to see, other than the Isle of the Blessed in the foggy distance and the muddy footprints that led from deep beneath the water up to the treeline where Merlin waited. Arthur turned to face the man, who now looked skittish and pale, a stark contrast from the cheekiness he had shown earlier.

"Come on _Mer_lin," Arthur shouted back to the fidgeting man, who jolted and stared intently at the king with wide blue eyes. It was a bit unnerving, not knowing what Merlin could possibly be thinking or feeling right then behind those eyes, but Arthur tried not to let it bother him, "Stop standing there looking like a deer about to be shot and get over here."

Merlin hesitated at the command, moving awkwardly as if he was going to begin to walk, and then his body jerking back as he stopped himself before he could get into the full tilt of the motion. Arthur merely watched the man with an expectant, yet not entirely patient, expression, feeling as if he were the prince of Camelot again and Merlin was crossing the square - late again - with tools and supplies stacked up in his arms. That was the same feeling Arthur had right at that moment as he watched Merlin finally get over his mental block and trot over, still looking uncomfortable.

"Always the hunting metaphors with you." Merlin grumbled once Arthur was within earshot. Arthur ignored the comment, and as soon as Merlin came close enough he slung an arm around the thinner man's shoulders.

"Well, get started then, oh _great_ and _powerful_ sorcerer." Arthur said, and gestured at the bright green grass that was now under both his and Merlin's feet. He didn't entirely understand much about magic still, but certainly to get the rest of the deadened grass to grow healthily again, the only true patch of healthy grass left was where one should begin. Merlin had stiffened under Arthur's arm when the appendage had found its way around his shoulders, and had yet to relax. Yet as Arthur watched the other man gaze at the grass beneath their feet, a certain light of what Arthur could only describe as _hope_ seemed to settle in Merlin's eyes. Merlin wanted the opportunity to right his wrongs just as much as Arthur wanted to help his friend and the land heal.

Slowly, Merlin ducked and shrugged Arthur's arm away, moving so that he could bend down to the ground more easily. Over the past week, Merlin had been obvious in his discomfort and wariness to do any blatant magic around Arthur, but now the man looked confident in his motions as he reached a pale hand towards the earth.

"_Alíedaþ for mé." _Merlin whispered, almost lovingly, to the ground as his fingers brushed through the tall strands of grass. Arthur hadn't the faintest idea what the words meant, but he felt the warmth of magic as it spread within the ground through the soles of his boots. Merlin stayed in his crouched position as the magic ran its course, his eyes shut to hide the golden glow of his irises as he and Arthur waited patiently for the deadened grass just outside of where they stood to begin to grow.

Nothing happened. A cool breeze of air tumbled by in the pregnant silence that settled around the two of them. Arthur glanced down at his servant's bowed head worriedly after the grass still refused to grow. As the king of Camelot, he _certainly_ wasn't an expert on how magic truly worked, but judging by how Merlin's face seemed to grow paler and paler with each passing second, something significantly _magical _should have happened. Merlin straightened abruptly, legs unfolding like a spring as he nearly pushed Arthur over into the water of the lake with his shoulder. The silence stretched on as Merlin breathed very slowly, obviously making an effort to calm himself in the face of this unexpected fail in his magic's ability. Once, twice, three times. Then finally, eyes still lit with gold, Merlin faced his king.

"It won't- It won't let me heal it." Merlin whispered, his voice sounding strained, but also sounding like he was holding in a rage similar to dragon fire. Who that misted rage was directed at was a mystery. "My magic isn't working."

Arthur felt ice settle ever so slowly within his heart, and he mused quietly beneath the rising mantra of '_His magic isn't working. We can't fix this._' that it felt worryingly similar to how Mordred's blade felt sliding through his skin.

* * *

**_Alíedaþ for mé = Old English. Translates (hopefully) to "Grow/Spring up for me." _**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: hello, I'm finally _somewhat_ back! Finals are next week though, and I've been working my butt off in school lately trying to get everything done in time. After finals though it'll finally be summer (and i'll finally be free, fREE)**

**Responses to the reviews on chapter 5:**

**_Gasoline Diamond_ - oh myg o dhgh - thank you very much, i'm glad you think my writing is great. thats so nice tho reaLLY Wo w **

**_DarkMousyRulezAll_ - all your questions and more will be answered in time! I'm experimenting a bit with plot twists and other plot things though, so be prepared :D and ahh thank you very much amiko- you're super nice reviewing my writing and helpin me and such**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin._**

**Onwards to chapter 6! Thank you all for reading and stickin with me!**

* * *

There was a brief moment of silent panic that moved like a wave from Arthur, to Merlin, and then back and forth once more. Arthur searched for something to say to quell the shaking he could see beginning at Merlin's fingertips. Merlin opened his mouth to speak a split second before Arthur had the chance to do the same.

"Well look at wot we've got 'ere."

That mouth snapped shut, and blue eyes bulged as they spun to glare at the group of darkly clad men emerging from the trees. Arthur took an authoritative step forward as he recognized the voice of the one thug that had done all the talking that night when two - only two - of the current group had come searching for his warlock. There were definitely more than two men here this day. One hand on Excalibur's hilt, the other pressed against Merlin's chest to hold him back, Arthur leveled a glare of his own at the unshaven face of the man who had spoken. He looked a bit like Jarl the slave-trader had, though more modern, yet still instilled the same response of disgust and anger in Arthur.

The man grinned toothily, and glanced back at his fellows like a bully to his posse before taking a testing step forward. "Looks to me like that 'ittle bird left 'is nest all on 'is own." The man took another step, but stopped as Arthur gripped his sword in a clear threat. "Certainly saves us the trouble of 'avin to tear 'im outta his nest ourselves." There was a jittering wave of bobbing shoulders as the group of bandits - for that was what they were to Arthur, an employer and purpose be damned - all chuckled darkly at their leader's humor. Likening Merlin to a bird was really a rather accurate coincidence though, and Arthur would give them that, but he did not laugh as they did and instead he maintained his tense, battle-ready, stance.

"Leave us be." Arthur commanded, and another louder wave of chuckles rolled through the group.

"Arthur-" Merlin began warningly as the leader leered at the two of them and took another, ever more dangerous, step forward.

Arthur cut the warlock off with a sharp gesture of his free hand, the other hand now sliding Excalibur from its sheath and brandishing the sword as protection in front of the two of them. Merlin very nearly rolled his eyes at the act, but gritted his teeth in mounting frustration as he watched the tense air of the situation climax with that one act. The leader of the troop of men took one dark look at the sword that Arthur held, eyed the way Arthur held himself, and then burst out laughing. None of his men joined in, but the effect the laughter had on Arthur was magnanimous, as the king's eyes hardened and a new reckless spark lit fire in them as he gazed at the man who dared to mock him.

The gruff man collected himself after a few more heaving guffaws, and wiped imaginary tears from his eyes before speaking again, "You plannin' to take us _all_ on jus' with that little knife there?"

_"Arthur."_ Merlin hissed in warning again, this time more insistent as he tugged briefly at Arthur's arm before removing his hand as if he had no right. "We should leave- strategically retreat I mean." Merlin tripped on his words but then continued to whisper hurriedly, gaining momentum with each word as he tried to convince his king of what he saw as the best course of action, "There's far too many of them for you to take on alone if my- if my magic fails us."

It was true, which was why Arthur felt sick at the acceptance that curled through him. Back when he and Merlin had gone on patrols in Camelot and had encountered bands of bandits, they would have easily been able to fight off such men. Back then though, the playing field had been even, with each side using the same swords and weapons as the other, even if Arthur had had an invisible advantage in Merlin. These men though, they all had blackened boxes with crude handles strapped into dark holsters at their hips, while Arthur only had his sword and a defective warlock. The king had no doubt that those odd boxes could do far more damage than he would ever expect, and he didn't necessarily want to risk it, not when he and Merlin had too much to stick around on the earth for.

"Ey, you two 'ittle ducks still alive over there?" The gruff leader yelled over to them, strangely still where he had been standing minutes ago. He hadn't moved closer, and for some reason his lack of action seemed far more dangerous than any steps closer he could have taken. "I think it's bout time you cut the chit chat though, don't you think boys?" The men all nodded, and then without warning, as one, they charged.

Merlin's eyes widened just as they first began to move, and his hand had found its place on Arthur's arm again as he yanked the king backwards towards the lake. The boat and frail dock that had been at the shore thousand of years ago was no more, but certainly if the two of them were in the water, it would hopefully deter the thugs - laden down no doubt with guns and bullets - from following them if only for a short while. Words thudded through his mind - _Protect Arthur Protect Arthur Protect _- one thought over and over as he saw each man melt into one faceless mass that wanted to take him from his friend. He saw Arthur's blade as he fought to put it back in its scabbard at his side, but he didn't see that part of the motion, he only saw the glint of the sun off the metal, and suddenly his magic was exploding out of him against his will in its desperate need to _protect_. The bandits all were tossed back with shouts of surprise, and then he and Arthur's backs broke the water as they plunged down to the mud not even inches below. They were still so close to the shore, far too close to danger, and Merlin ignored whatever it was Arthur was yelling as he pulled the friend he had just gotten back from death a week ago deeper into the lake that Arthur had risen from. There was no where else for them to go after all.

The realization hit Merlin, and felt no different from the icy water of the lake as it splashed against his skin. There was no where for them to go. After all, these men obviously knew where his home was, and they certainly had the numbers and the motive to flush Merlin and Arthur out by any means possible. Whatever this "employer" wanted, Merlin was determined not to let them have it. So going back to the small, cluttered shack that had been his home for _years_ was no longer an option. This was the climax brought about by his foolish actions, this was when he and Arthur went on the run to escape what his last desperate effort to revive his friend left in the wake of his success. This was all Merlin's fault.

The water was to their necks now, the shouting men on the shore just having pulled their guns from their holsters and taking aim. Arthur had somehow managed to get Excalibur back in its sheath through Merlin tugging on his arm and the water pushing at him from all sides. Gunshots broke the air, sharp and frightening, and Merlin's magic lashed out instinctually once again in a way it hadn't since he'd been an inexperienced boy just walking into Camelot. Arthur's head went under the comforting barrier of the water with a flash of gold, and several of the guns exploded violently in the hands that held them. A sharp jab of fear shot through Merlin as he watched, eyes wide, while still paddling backwards further out into the lake. Arthur surfaced close to him, gasping and spluttering, but Merlin's eyes were fixed upon the few men that were yelling and holding their bleeding hands. His magic was acting on its own in his desperation, and Merlin had almost forgotten how scared he was of himself.

"You idiots, we ain't s'pposed ta_ kill_ 'em!"

"If ya haven't noticed boss- we're the one's gettin killed ri' now!"

Arthur tugged at the back of Merlin's scarf, as if tugging on the scruff on the back of an unruly kitten's neck, and the warlock came back to himself. At once he began to push and swim through the water, Arthur slightly ahead despite the weight of his sword at his side that was undoubtedly dragging him down. Both of them were having trouble with weight though it seemed, as every once in awhile, whenever Merlin would pause to use magic and push back the advancing thugs that had dared to enter the water, his boots and clothes would suddenly seem so unbearably _heavy_. There was no way that he and Arthur would be able to swim to the Isle of the Blessed like this - not that he had been expecting them to anyways. Any bit of shoreline furthest from the thugs and difficult to get to from on land would do for them to make their escape into the forest. Once there, Merlin knew he'd have to break it to Arthur that it wouldn't be best to go back home just then, and he didn't really want to. Arthur had only known Merlin's little shack for the past week, and the world beyond that was a mystery to even Merlin, who had become somewhat of a reclusive hermit in the years leading up to Arthur's return.

Abruptly, his knees dragged through mud and dirt. Merlin winced at the feeling, and very nearly stumbled face first into the now shallow water if Arthur hadn't snagged the back of his scarf once again. Instead of flopping face down, he found himself being choked by the neck, something that he roughly went about putting a stop to, all but yanking his scarf from Arthur's grip and standing in the two feet of water. Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin's antics, but the humor was short lived as he threw a mildly annoyed and wary glance back at the dark men that yelled abuse at them from the other shoreline.

"Think we're safe for now?" Arthur breathed heavily, still kneeling in the waters of Avalon, with Merlin standing, looking like a tired drowned rat, beside him. Merlin was also breathing heavily, as the rush from moments ago dripped away like the water dripping from his coat. He should have known that with Arthur's return his life would be thrown right back into all those life or death situations that had made his heart race back in Camelot - even if _this_ life or death situation had been specifically his fault. If he weren't somewhat immortal, Merlin would have thought for sure he'd die of a heart attack with the way his heart was thudding against his ribs.

"For now." Merlin answered, reaching down to offer a hand to his friend. Arthur took it gratefully and pulled himself to his feet, nearly tugging Merlin down and sending him back into the water again. Merlin bit his lip in thought as the two of them righted themselves and trudged - hurriedly, both men well aware they weren't in the clear just yet - out from the water. Now would be as good a time as any to reveal his plan to Arthur. "Alright, well, we can't go back to the house…" He hesitated, waiting for an explosion, but none came. He continued speaking somewhat cautiously, "We should probably go into town- there'll be more places to hole up and hide in there than out here in the forest."

To Merlin's continued surprise, Arthur merely nodded in agreement and began to work on clearing a path through the forest. Merlin followed after throwing one last glance back at the other shore and the dark men gathered there, allowing the king to lead his way. He supposed he should have had more faith in Arthur. Honestly, the king had had to leave Camelot and his castle behind on more than one occasion in the past when certain enemy parties - _Morgana -_ had been particularly successful. This situation was no different. They were running from someone who wanted their power for themselves, they would have to avoid going home for awhile. It was no different.

But however much Merlin repeated that the situation was no different to himself, it was different. His magic hadn't worked on the earth at all, and yet, unbidden, it had come to his aid and had taken down his enemies when they had advanced. The flip was unsettling, and made the warlock's insides twist with dread as he stared at Arthur's broad shoulders which lead the way in front of him.

"Who do you think is after you?"

Merlin almost didn't hear the question, so caught up in his worries over his magic, that he stumbled in surprise when he encountered Arthur's halted figure. He blinked, eyes cloudy, once before responding with a shrug that he hoped would be sufficient enough to hold Arthur off for now.

It wasn't sufficient. Really, if Merlin had been in his right mind at the moment - which he was confident he wasn't - he would have known beforehand not to even attempt to shrug off a question from the great Arthur Pendragon. "You have to have some ideas, Merlin." Arthur snapped, suddenly tense, no banter following the question as it would have done back when things were simpler.

Merlin pressed his lips together, and nudged his way past Arthur to continue onward, "I honestly have no idea _who_ it could be, but it's pretty obvious as to _why_, isn't it?" It hadn't been his intention to sound so bitter, but Merlin was sopping wet and felt like a string pulled tight that was ready to snap at any moment.

Arthur said nothing, and they continued on in silence after that, only moving any faster in the moments when they felt as if the enemy was closing in.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Ah, sorry for how late this chapter took to get churned out. I hit a bit of a wall there for awhile, and this chapter still isn't as well-written as I'd like. It doesn't really flow - to me at least - but I'm honestly so grateful to those of you that have reviewed/favorited/followed this story! You guys are the only reason I haven't put much thought into taking this story down. I'm glad you are enjoying my writing.**

**Responses to reviews on chapter 6/other reviews: **

**_DarkMousyRulezAll - yeLLS BACk AT YOU. THank you amiko omg - im sorry but i cant answer those questions rn. spoilery plot things and the like you know. thanks!_**

**_wryter501 ch 3 review - oh wow, thanks for those points haha. thank you!_**

**_wryter501 ch 6 review - yep, I guess so. they've really gotten themselves stuck. :D thank you again for this review and for following this story! it's really encouraging (can i also say rly quickly without being creepy, that I love your 3 part modern reincarnation fics as well as Vortigern's Tower, and was a little bit honored to see that you'd taken an interest in this mess that i've been writing. thank you very much!) _**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin!**

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From they way Merlin had described it, Arthur would've thought the nearby town to be deserted, with only empty buildings, shelves of stores still stocked, standing on lonely streets. The town before him was nothing like an abandoned town should look though - nothing like a normal town should look at all really. The buildings rose high into the air, with windows covered in glass and sharp edges to their corners. Everything looked distinctly _fake. _Even the people who walked, hugging their backs to the walls as they passed him and Merlin, looked to not even be real.

Everything was also very _cold. _Arthur hadn't noticed it before, but now, as he and Merlin trudged down the road, the water that made his shirt cling to his chest felt like ice. Merlin had already taken his scarf and jacket off, realizing that they'd do more to keep him _not-warm _than _warm_, and had slung them over his arm to carry them more easily. Arthur felt distinctly exposed without his armor on, cold and with only a thin shirt - why hadn't he grabbed a jacket like Merlin had? It was _autumn_ for goodness sake! - and so he rubbed his arms futilely while looking for a place where he and Merlin could lie low.

Of course, Arthur had no idea what to be looking for. He had no idea what a good hiding place looked like in this day and age. He had no idea where the enemy would look first, or where they'd be able to get supplies, or where they'd be safe from weather or other normal people simply wandering through. It was frustrating for the king to be so useless in this type of situation though. He had no idea how to command or direct his single remaining subject, had no idea how deep the situation they were in ran. Merlin seemed confident though, as if he knew what to look for even though Arthur did not, and it made the younger - for now he was younger - man feel hollow and useless. He had only ever felt like this a very few times before, and he _hated _it each and every time. He obviously wasn't useful or needed, and so other than to prevent Merlin from being swallowed by a lonely man's madness, Arthur saw no true reason behind his rising from Avalon. _The Once and Future King_, Merlin had called him. He certainly wasn't a king now. A sopping wet man out of time was what he was.

Merlin's hand curled itself around Arthur's wrist and tugged, and Arthur found himself dislodged from the path he had been dazedly following. He glanced emotionlessly at his warlock, who swallowed and smiled a smile that was more a grimace than anything. For a moment, concern flashed through Arthur, concern for his friend, for he knew that every word he beat _himself_ up with, Merlin was probably letting an entire sentence strangle him. Oddly, other than concern, Arthur didn't know how he felt about that - about Merlin's current state of mind. He supposed he should feel sympathy, perhaps guilt or _more_ concern than he was, but something like a wall pressed against those feelings and locked them inside.

Everything was Merlin's fault after all.

"We can stay here." Merlin said, voice watery. He coughed once and pulled at Arthur's wrist again, dragging the man around the few people who wobbled through the road like zombies and over to an obviously abandoned storefront. It was one of the few buildings that looked as if it had been through an actual attack, with half of its roof caved in upon the top-most floor, and the glass of its front window shattered completely. The two men picked their way around the shattered glass on the sidewalk until they reached the doorway of the building. There was no door there, only a gaping, empty frame, and after only a moment's hesitation at the threshold Merlin and Arthur trudged their way into the dusty rubble on the inside.

Soon - thanks to a golden flash of Merlin's eyes that Arthur pretended not to see- they had a small fire roaring in the center of the empty room they had chosen to camp in. The room was on the second floor of the building, the floor above being the one with the collapsed in roof. While warming himself by the fire, Arthur mentally scoffed at how weak the walls of the modern age were, thinking of when the roof over his head had been solid stone and the walls around him had been the same.

Merlin coughed across from him as the fire cracked and spewed sparks, and Arthur tilted his head to look at the warlock. He hadn't moved since they had gotten the fire going, instead choosing to sit tensely and watch Arthur as if _he_ was the one who had caused men's guns to explode in their hands. As soon as Merlin noticed Arthur watching him back, his eyes seemed to age a million years, and then they closed off.

"I'll go ge-" Merlin made to stand, but Arthur had lunged around the fire and across the space before he had even unfolded his legs.

"No." The king snapped, wet and dirty and suddenly _angry_, "Last time you off and disappeared somewhere, you led _mercenaries_ back to us. I think its best if you just _sit down_ for now."

Honestly though, the last thing Arthur wanted to do was sit down. He wanted to go out and hunt the men down that dared to cause them to go into hiding, he wanted to shake Merlin's shoulders until the man told him everything that had happened in his fifteen thousand years of life. He wanted action and motion and the comfort of knowing he was _doing something_ for his people who no longer existed. But no, instead he was sitting in a broken down building, dust and a fire before him and a cold zombie town behind him, with a _changed_ Merlin hovering somewhere in the middle.

"Actually, If anyone's going anywhere, it'll be me." Arthur huffed as he stood, boots crunching on a piece of drywall beneath his heel. They were not in Merlin's little lakeside home anymore, where he had been trapped for a week while Merlin told him the bare minimum of the world outside. Now, they were in unknown territory that needed to be explored. "Stay here." Arthur commanded Merlin, even though he had no true authority over the warlock any longer. His hand curved tightly around the pommel of his sword as he turned away from the fire and towards the darkened stairway that led to the bottom floor and the shattered glass. Merlin - wisely - said nothing to deter the king from leaving, and Arthur grit his teeth at the contradictory actions of his former manservant.

It was far too easy for Arthur to leave the room without Merlin in tow, and he stomped down the rickety stairs with a little more force than was necessary as he went. Completely ignoring the broken glass of the front window, he walked over it towards the gaping front doorway. The glass broke further beneath his boots, cracking dramatically in the silence of Arthur's heavy thoughts. It must've been old to be able to snap in half so easily. Old things always tended to be more fragile and brittle than expected.

Without the warmth of the fire, or the warmth of what Merlin called '_air conditioning_,' the outside seemed far colder than it had even with his clothes sopping wet with lake water. Arthur's lips curled as he rubbed futilely at his arms, head bobbing from side to side as he looked up and down the street before him. He had no idea where he would go or what he would do, he had - once again - had no plan other than to simply get out of where he had been. With a jolt, Arthur realized he hadn't had a substantial or well thought-out plan since he had organized his troops for the final battle at Camlann. Despite all his experience, Arthur found he was slipping, dangerously, down a backwards slope now. He was headed back towards where he had been at when Merlin had been absent from his life and he had been nothing more than a foolish prince, and that could not be allowed to happen.

Arthur shook himself and began to march resolutely down towards the area that the most people were returning from, sure that there must be something of interest in that direction if so many people were gathered there. Arthur knew he was being dangerously foolish going towards such a populated area, after all, the thugs hunting down Merlin knew what they _both_ looked like. There was safety in numbers though, no matter how unwilling or how unknown.

The source of the crowd, Arthur soon discovered, was a sort of market. People were clustered in small, scrapped together groups around open stalls and any store that was left intact. Though they all had the same, tired zombie-like look, Arthur was surprised to see that the people's clothes were not rags, and that there were none of them who looked like they had been injured or lamenting a death recently. Despite all the destruction around them - the burned forest in the distance, the collapsed buildings and scorched roads, the empty fields - Arthur could see that the people of the town were carrying on with their lives and holding themselves together rather well."_The buildings all still stand though, else I wouldn't have been able to buy all this!" _ Merlin had said. This - Arthur realized as he began to mix himself with the crowd, eyes idly taking in the new sights - must've been where Merlin had been buying all of the supplies that he had been living off of for the past week.

"Pst, hey pretty boy!"

Arthur turned sharply to face the store he had just passed, which really was no more than a glorified table of wares spread across a window display stand that had no glass. The man that stood behind the empty window, behind the table of objects and books, beckoned Arthur over with a quick jerking motion of his knobby hands.

Arthur approached cautiously, intrigued, yet hand on his sword, with a scowl on his face to let his displeasure at being called 'pretty boy' known. The seller chuckled, a deep rasping sound, before beginning to speak as Arthur drew nearer.

"That's a mighty fine trinket ya got there. I couldn't help but notice it." He said, gesturing to Excalibur at Arthur's hip. Instantly, the king tensed, as if ready for the bandits that had been hunting Merlin to jump from within the store as soon as this old man swindled away his one line of defense. The man - a name tag pinned to his chest identified him as Mr. Gurgi. Odd. - continued talking, "you've never thought of selling it have you? Cause really," he whistled here, and Arthur raised an eyebrow, "judgin by the hilt, sword like that- well, it looks almost like it could have been Excalibur herself! She'd fetch a right nice price yknow."

Wait, _what_?

How- how on earth did this _Gurgi _man know the name of his sword? He doubted that Merlin had come through and told everyone in the town of his story before he decided to bring down a few buildings and set a few things on fire, and the only other place his sword might've been named would be the old historic records that the wise Geoffrey of Monmouth had been writing during his time as king. Though Arthur sincerely hoped that those records had survived the test of time, he knew what a stretch that was.

Instead of asking Mr. Gurgi the true question that was now burning at the forefront of his mind, Arthur merely clutched his sword tighter to his side and shook his head. Asking questions about how the man knew of his sword might raise suspicions and single him out as an outsider in this time. "No, sorry, not for sale. This was... An old family heirloom." The excuse rolled easily from his tongue, and he watched the shopkeeper immediately back down when he knew there was no hope.

None the less, Arthur decided to stay and glance over the items the man had for sale. They seemed to be unusual things to be selling; odd lamps and pins, candlestick holders, wax seal presses, a stack of old books. The books seemed to be the most interesting of all the items, and so Arthur gravitated to them, despite the fact that Merlin's home had been full of old books and he had been sure he had had his fill. The cluttered stacks that were sure to fall if you so much as looked at them were not very inviting towards those who wanted to read, and so Arthur had never taken a closer look at any of the titles that Merlin had gathered to himself over the years. This _much _smaller stack was a lot more manageable, and Arthur peered at the spine of each one in turn. One of the books sent a jolt through the king as he read its title, the words sounding loud and echoing in his mind. _'Le Morte d'Arthur Vol. I' _it was called, and though Arthur could not recognize the rest of the title, he knew his name when he saw it.

"May I...?" He gestured at the book, the third one from the bottom and by far one of the thickest. Mr. Gurgi had been watching him closely, like a vulture ready to swoop in case Arthur seemed like he might buy something. He nodded eagerly in response to Arthur's half voiced request, and looked positively _hungry _as Arthur cracked the book open to view the pages within.

"Ah so that's why you carry around an old heirloom- you're an Arthurian Legends fan, huh?"

Arthur pressed his lips together, and kept his eyes on the pages before him. He nodded once to the man and hoped he'd stop talking - he was almost ready to order the man to shut up - as each and every thing he said was making the king's stomach churn. _Arthurian Legends?_

"I dabbled a bit in those meself, though of course there's too many damn books to hunt down if ya wanna know the true story of King Arthur. I been tryin to -"

By then, Arthur had firmly and finally managed to tune the shopkeeper's incessant talking out. When Merlin prattled on and on in such a way, Arthur had found it amusing or comforting, never annoying. Yet with anyone else who rambled, Arthur had to grit his teeth against the onslaught of words.

Arthur then turned his focus back to the book now that Mr. Gurgi was well and truly tuned out, and scanned the page that he had flipped to. He felt numb as he stared at the passage, which detailed a great battle between the knights Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristram, a battle of which Arthur could neither remember nor - he was absolutely sure of - had ever happened. He flipped through the pages again, backwards this time, and encountered the tale of Gwaine chasing after a white deer that had burst into a feast before it had run off."_And as Gawaine followed the hart by the cry of the hounds, even afore him there was a great river, and the hart swam over; and as Sir Gawaine would follow after, there stood a knight over the other side." _This, Arthur was sure of, had never happened either. The king confusedly continued to skim the words, wondering _why on earth_ such a book that detailed fictional quests of some of his most trusted knights existed. He was sure that his rule had been nothing special. After all, the time he had ruled compared to his father's time on the throne was practically no time at all. How could legends and stories be written and read and revered so when he had failed so thoroughly?

Then, the King of Camelot came upon a passage that gave him all the answers.

"_They could no counsel give, but said they were big enough. Ye say well, said Arthur; I thank you for your good courage, but will ye all that loveth me speak with Merlin? ye know well that he hath done much for me, and he knoweth many things, and when he is afore you, I would that ye prayed him heartily of his best advice. All the barons said they would pray him and desire him. So Merlin was sent for, and fair desired of all the barons to give them best counsel."_

Oh.

_Oh Merlin._

Ever so slowly, Arthur shut the book and placed it back upon Gurgi's stack of others. He nodded to the shopkeeper, who looked crestfallen at the fact that Arthur was not going to buy the book that detailed a life he had not lead, before turning back to the crowd. Not wanting to be swallowed just yet, Arthur moved away from the shop slightly and leaned against the building beside it. There was no doubt in his mind now that Merlin had either written the book, or influenced its writing. After all, Arthur mused to himself in an effort to lighten his own mood, in fifteen hundred years if one doesn't write a book or two, well then one truly is wasting their time. He had to confront his friend about this though. Again. He had to confront Merlin about an issue that the man hadn't come straight out with about to him _again. _It was getting repetitive and annoying and Arthur knew with a sinking acceptance that Merlin's secrets were probably going to get them both killed one day.

The king pushed himself away from the wall and made his way into the throng of people, very slowly, once more. The crowd was thinner than before, as the sun began to fall and fade from the sky and the chill in the air increased, and Arthur could understand - as he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them warm while he walked - the need to get home to warmth and family and out of this desolate, destroyed place. He was making his way back up the street, the way he had come, when the first person screamed.

The sound cut through the air sharply and suddenly, and every heart in that odd marketplace stopped. Arthur's shoulders tensed as he turned, blue eyes wide, towards the source of the scream.

Nothing could ever go right for him or Merlin, could it? Nothing. He had been foolish leaving Merlin behind and venturing out into the open on his own. He had been _so foolish._

"He's got a _gun!"_

All hell broke loose.

* * *

**_Quotes taken from Le Morte d'Arthur Vol. 1 credited to Sir Thomas Malory and Project Gutenberg, where the entirety of Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 can be found online. Just google it! It's honestly such a great resource, and I was happily surprised when I found both full volumes online free to read in my hunt for Arthurian Legend texts._**


End file.
